


Upon the palm of destruction

by Roselyn



Series: Upon the palm of destruction [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Death, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kissing, Light Sadism, Masochism, Sadism, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Tattoos, Violence, two spycos find each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-08 14:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19871476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselyn/pseuds/Roselyn
Summary: Zolf J. Kimblee comes across a thing that prickles his interest --a young girl who survived one of his explosions.





	1. Eyes that crave death

Zolf J. Kimblee was intrigued. 

He liked nice things. Pretty things. Fancy things. 

He also liked the unexpected; things that surprised him, stimulated him. He loved the symphony played between the notes. 

This was all of that, he thought, fidgeting with the red stone in his mouth. His tongue ran over its smooth edges, studying its shape, not shying away from the sharper corners. 

His sapphire eyes were focused on the woman before him, observing her. Watching her labored breathing, the sweat glistening at her brow, the linen bandage around her torso, stained red from the spot where her arm was missing. 

This, was beautiful. This, was an unwilling victim of his work. This, was someone who had wandered into a wrong place at a wrong time —and survived one of his explosions. 

This one also didn’t belong in Ishval. Her eyes were closed, her skin pale. Her oval face framed by dark cloud of curls. She was young. 

Too young, Kimbly thought, his eyes narrowing as a soft amused smile spread across his lips. Not a woman at all, but a slip of a girl. So what was she doing here?

The girl shifted with a silent mewl, her eyes cracking open. 

“W-who. . .?”

A cat-like smirk spread across Kimblee’s lips as he sneaked his tongue around the stone, his priceless red shard of destruction, helping it down his throat with ease, almost unnoticed. 

“I am Zolf J. Kimblee. A pleasure to meet you.” 

“The. . . Red Lotus,” the woman breathed, her eyes focusing slowly on Kimblee’s form, sitting on a fold chair by the bed. 

Kimblee liked her eyes, feverish as they were. Like two buttons of onyx, shining black and bright deep in her head. It was rare to see bright eyes here in Ishval. And these eyes craved. 

“The very one,” he confirmed, leaning on his knees. “You’re one of Mustang’s, aren’t you?” 

The woman smiled bitterly, closing her eyes. Her hand went to the stump of her arm, long fingered and pale. “Was. I was before. . . They know now. They know I lied. They’ll court marshal me. . .” 

Yes, they would, Kimblee reckoned. But who would lie her age just to get sent to the front lines?

“You went to get your injured friend, if I am not mistaken, Miss?” 

“Wellbane. Marian Wellbane. He’s gone now. My friend is gone. My arms is gone. . . my alchemy is gone. . .”

“You’re not a state alchemist, Miss Wellbane,” Kimblee spoke softly, folding his fingers. Giving the girl a glance of his transmutation circles, tattooed on his palms. 

“No,” she breathed heavily, falling back to the pillow. “I was supposed to be. After, after this. After Ishvaal. They already spoke of the name, I heard them talking. I was. . . I was supposed to become the  
Dust Alchemist. . . The White Flower. . . But I kept pushing the test further. . .” 

“Yes,” Kimblee agreed. “I heard them talking about the alchemist, turning people into ash and dust with a mere snap of her fingers, like Mustang creates fire.” 

The woman chuckled, her back arching in pain with the gesture. The sight of her pain made Kimblee kiddy, just a little. 

“N-not like Mustang. I don’t need petty gloves. Slow things, impractical . . . The transmutation circles were tattooed on my hand and fingertips. All. . . all I needed was a slight touch. . .” her voice died down and for a moment Kimblee thought she had fallen unconscious, until she continued. 

“I need it back, my arm. . .” 

“I doubt it’s possible, but I’ve heard of good automail mechanics, replacing the missing limbs—”

She interrupted him, the rude little thing. “N-no. Automail is slow, heavy. No good for detailed work. And time. . . I’m running out of time. Healing from the surgery takes too long. They need to die. All of them. It’s not over yet, not yet. Not until. . . not until I have painted the sands red with their blood. . .” she trailed off again, feverish. 

Kimblee’s interest was prickled by her words. 

“Why?”

“My family, they killed my family.” 

So this was about revenge, then. A simple motive. A boring motive. 

“You lied your age just to revenge your family?”

To Kimblee’s surprise, the girl chuckled. Her gaze was getting hazy, her eyes more glassed. Her fever was getting worse. 

“I learned my alchemy to have revenge on my family. Here . . . I am here just for the screams. To hear the music of their screams. . .” 

Kimblee’s tongue flicked out of his mouth to wet a dry lip. He could almost feel it, the tickle of anticipation running up his spine. And for a moment, he wondered what it would be like, to feel this girl squirm under him, screaming out his name in pleasure and agony. “How old are you really, Miss Wellbane?” 

“Sixteen.”

Sixteen. How disappointing. 

Kimblee had gotten what he wanted and was ready to leave, when the girl muttered something, called after him, perhaps. “My arm. . . I’d give my soul to get it back. . .” 

Kimblee glanced at the girl over his shoulder, considering, till a wide grin spread across his face. 

Why not? He would be happy to oblige.


	2. A gentleman caller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian Wellbane realizes she's heavily in dept to a dangerous and intoxicating man. . .

Marian Wellbane woke up with a gentleman caller sitting by her bed. 

“You are awake.” 

“Major Kimblee,” Marian greeted slowly. She knew the man by the looks, along with those faint memories she had of his last visit. And she feared she had shared too much. 

“Your fever seems to have settled just fine,” Kimblee observed, the look in his sapphire eyes growing more intense. He had dressed casually for an officer, or had just soiled his coat and left it off somewhere. The word was he hated unclean clothes. 

“How’s the arm, Miss Wellbane?” 

“The. . .?” 

The blood drained from Marian’s face as she glanced down at herself, looking at her replaced left arm. 

“H-how?” 

“It belonged to a freshly died Ishvalan woman. I remembered the looks of your tattoos and good doctor Marcoh did the rest. I do hope the color difference does not bother you,” Kimblee replied smoothly. 

Marian marveled at the sight of her new hand, studying the tattoos with interest. They were precisely the same as the old ones. She could finish her work. Drown the Ishvali in their own blood. She had promised as much, to her brother. 

“You. . . remembered the looks of my tattoos?” Marian asked, looking at the major with whole new eyes. He appeared casual enough, with a smooth long hair tied to a ponytail, with few strands escaped to flow free on his face. His smile was lazy, but his eyes were bright. Too bright. Knowingly bright. 

“Yes. I saw them when you handed me a cup a couple of days back. I have a very good memory, Miss Wellbane?” 

“Ria, please,” Marian smiled, testing the waters. “I cannot imagine a way to thank you enough, major Kimblee. May I ask, why are you being so good to me?” 

The major shifted at his seat, the look in his eyes growing more intense. “Ria,” her nickname rolled off his tongue like honey coated venom. “I thought you wanted your arm back to finish your work. I thought you wanted it back so badly you were ready to . . . trade your soul for it.” 

With the look in Kimblee’s eyes, it would have been easy for Marian to believe the man possessed her soul already. 

Major Kimblee was. . . something else. Something a little more. . . Something dangerous and beautiful. 

And far too observant. 

“My soul?” Marian chuckled. “I must have been ranting in fever. I bet I said lots of odd things.” 

Kimblee nodded slowly. “One could say that. Not all of those things are acceptable in the society.” 

He kept a small pause, smiling. “But no need to worry. I will keep your words as a secret.” 

To Marian, there was an ‘if’ hanging in the air. What could this man want? Money? Praise? Sex?

Sex should be good, here, in the middle of a war zone where the men had little pleasures to keep themselves entertained with. 

“I am, most grateful to you, major. Very, grateful,” Marian said, making sure to put weight on the last words to drop the hint. She would pay him back, most willingly so. The arm, her alchemy returned. . . 

It was generous gift. A priceless gift. 

Kimblee smiled softly to her words, but didn’t give a sign he would have accepted her unspoken suggestion. Instead he said, “I do hope you haven’t gotten in trouble now that they know your age, Ria.” 

His words made her flush. “Major Mustang came to yell at me today. He was furious, would probably have slapped me, if he had dared.” Marian chuckled dryly. “Without the nurse watching he might have.” 

“And will there be consequences, now that they know?”

“We’re unmanned and I am an alchemist, so they’ll let me stay. Once this is done, and if I am still alive, I will be court-martialed. Apparently my crime was not serious enough to be sent home right away.” 

“We’re low on alchemists, yes,” Kimblee agreed. He tilted his head, his ponytail falling over his shoulder. “I am glad you get to stay, Ria.” And with those words he rose, exiting the tent. 

Marian watched him go, touching her arm. He was a kind one, that major Kimblee. But just like alchemy, there was no kindness without the law of elevaquel exchange. Kimblee expected something from her. Something for the arm and something for his silence. 

Smiling bitterly, Marian fell back to the pillows. 

Just few days in Ishval, and she was already heavily in debt.


End file.
